Ten Years Married
I mark them surreptiously. The pub
is dingy, fire-lit. They rub
their feet together underneath the table
and share one drink. Somehow they're able
to touch at half-a-dozen different places.
Their eyes seek answers in each other's faces.
Passed thirty, both. Entwined, their fingers steeple:
they're ten years married -but to other people.
If you have any comments on this poem, Kevin Saving would be pleased to hear from you.